Along these Lines
by onthispath
Summary: Quinn/Rachel. Faberry. The night you see those 2 pink lines, you feel your heart stop. Your world spins and you don't at all remember how you end up in Quinn Fabray's arms.
1. Chapter 1

**Along these Lines**

A/N: Posted previously without the last 4 pages. Lost access to my email and account so I couldn't simply edit and upload the rest.

* * *

The night you see those 2 pink lines, you feel your heart stop. Your world spins and you don't at all remember how you end up in Quinn Fabray's arms. You don't remember sitting outside Quinn's dorm building for hours in the cold until Quinn stumbles upon you on the stoop, confused and bewildered by your presence. You don't remember how you tell Quinn that you're pregnant, nor do you remember how Quinn replies. All you remember, all that you know of that night is that it is in Quinn's arms that you break.

* * *

The morning you tell Brody, it rains. You tell him at the café across the street over a cup of hot chocolate. He turns pale and sputters nonsense that flies by you as you watch the crying of the city you've always dreamed of. There are people running everywhere trying to find shelter in the midst of the sudden downpour, and a young child hopping over puddles, laughing gleefully as he ignores his mother's frantic cries to get under the canopy with her, catches your eye. The mischievous glint in his eyes remind you of Quinn, and you feel a sudden indescribable longing that it makes your heart ache, and it snaps your attention back to Brody, sitting across from you still pale and still sputtering. You take pity on him. You remember patting him on the hand before leaving, but you don't remember what it is you tell him before you walk out the door. It doesn't matter, you decide. All you really want to remember from that day is how beautifully your city cried.

* * *

Your fathers cry when you tell them. They hold on to each other as they do, as the world seemingly crashes down on them. You hold your own feelings in, your own disappointment, your own fears. You got yourself into this mess, this is your fault entirely, and really, the least you can do is pretend you're brave and strong.

Finn, too, cries when you tell him, but he also yells. He tells you that you've ruined everything, that you've ruined any hope for your future together. You don't know what Santana is doing in your home that night, but you're grateful when she takes you in her arms, and for a moment, just for a moment you are allowed reprieve from pretending you're strong. Santana allows you to fall apart.

* * *

The day you file for a leave of absence from NYADA, you come home to find Quinn preparing dinner in the kitchen as Kurt rambles on excitedly. You are surprised to see her, pleasantly so, you find, and for the first time in the weeks since you've found out that you are pregnant, you realize you don't feel as though your life has ended. The zucchini Quinn is baking makes your mouth water, your stomach rumble; and as Quinn's eyes sparkles just so when they meet yours and her mouth curves into a smile, you finally, _finally_ allow your hands to rest on your stomach, gently running the pad of your thumb over where you know your baby is. _We're going to be okay._ You tell her. _We're going to be okay._

* * *

It isn't until a month later that you find out that Quinn has transferred to NYU and is moving to New York for good. You stumble upon the information when after a trip to the grocery store to pick up spinach and cabbages after your shift at the café, you walk in on Quinn and Santana arguing quite loudly. You don't hear much, only that you're all apparently moving to a larger apartment and Santana is insisting she get her own room as Quinn insists it isn't possible with the insane rent in New York City. They stop when you walk in, Quinn shooting daggers at Santana who looks glumly back at her, lips drawn tightly as though she's using all the self-restraint she has to keep from firing back. You are amused, but you pretend you've heard nothing.

News of the move doesn't surprise you, and you decide you don't want to know why Quinn has chosen to leave Yale for NYU. You know it's selfish and self-centered, but you don't care. Having Quinn and Santana around makes you feel safer than you have in months and little matters outside of the fact that you don't quite feel so alone when they are there.

It doesn't surprise you that somehow, Santana manages to find an apartment that's actually big enough for the four of you. Quim shoots her questioning looks all day but the secretive smile on Santana's face never wavers, and you decide you kind of already know how she managed to do what she has when you see the landlord's daughter. It doesn't faze you either, and you realize that nothing much fazes you these days. You are just so full of gratitude that your friends have all tried to help you through this.

* * *

You don't understand why the morning sickness doesn't only not go away in the first 3 months but seems to worsen further in your second trimester. You also don't understand why it is called morning sickness when it's in the middle of the night that you find yourself hugging the toilet. It is Quinn that rubs your back as she blinks blearily under the harsh lights of the bathroom. It's Quinn that makes you hot milk when you are hungry or tea to help your stomach settle. It is she that leads you back to your room, tucks you into bed and runs her fingers through your hair, staying with you until you fall asleep.

When you enter your third trimester, the nausea finally ceases and you find that you miss Quinn taking care of you in the middle of the night. The first time you sleep in Quinn's room, you cry. You're 7 months along and you're exhausted, lonely, afraid and just plain hormonal. You fall asleep to Quinn rubbing your back, singing softly, and in a sleepy haze, you think that her voice is one of the most beautiful things you've ever heard. Her voice lulling you to sleep that night is something you never forget.

* * *

The first time you see your daughter, your heart stops once again and your world spins. Quinn is crying quietly next to you and all you can think is that you don't feel anything at all. You trail a finger on her face, from her forehead to her nose down to her chin. You will her to open her eyes but she doesn't. You look at her, silent. You don't know what to do, you don't know what to feel. You don't feel anything, you just don't, and briefly you wonder how it is possible that you have just given life to this little girl and yet you feel nothing. Your life has been ruined by this little thing, this little girl that is yours, and you feel _nothing_. But then a hand clasps tightly on to your finger and just like that your heart starts to beat again and your world stops spinning. You know it's a reflex, the grasping reflect. You've read it somewhere, but that bit of knowledge does nothing to diminish the joy your heart threatens to burst with as your daughter responds to you. You'll conquer the world, you just know it, the two of you together, you'll make it.

* * *

The day you take her home, Kurt throws you a little party. It's just the 4 of you and your fathers, but Kurt has decorated the house with a smattering of white and purple flowers and balloons and has hung up a streamer saying "Welcome home, Samantha!" and you find that despite how tired you are, you are grateful.

When your fathers leave, it is Quinn you hand Samantha to as you get yourself ready for bed. She doesn't wake from sleep when you get back from the bathroom and without a word, you drag Quinn to your bed, and for the first time, you hold _her_ in your arms. When you feel her melt into you as you both fall asleep, you think that now you aren't pretending to be strong anymore, and that it's your turn to take care of her.

* * *

The first time you kiss her, she's in the tub giving Samantha a bath. She is supposed to be getting the baby ready for her first trip out into the city, and you walk in to find her and your daughter giggling, shirt soaked through, soapy suds in her hair and water all over the bathroom floor. Quinn is holding Samantha up, and the adoring look on her face fills your heart with warmth and happiness and when she looks at you and pulls you towards them, you can't help but touch her lips with yours.

You are relieved that she doesn't pull away, and pleased that when you do pull apart, she rests her forehead against yours, holding Samantha between you two. You feel at peace in that moment, you feel as though nothing can touch you.

Your hands don't leave hers for more than a few minutes the rest of the day.

* * *

Kurt moves out of the apartment you share with Quinn and Santana and in with Clark, a boy he's seemingly fallen madly in love with, a few weeks later and you don't hear from him until Samantha's first birthday. He's busy with Clark, and you don't begrudge him for disappearing. They're in the honeymoon phase, you think. He owes you nothing and he deserves to be happy. You can't help but wonder though if Kurt's really forgotten Blaine, if it's possible that he's really over him. But it isn't really your business, and you decide it doesn't really matter either, not for as long as Kurt is still happy.

* * *

You do well in your classes. You perform with a depth and passion you've never before been capable of and you shine brighter than you ever have. You start to feel like your old self. You start to remember the unwavering confidence, the drive. The praise, the applause, the high, the calling of the stage, it is reawakened in your blood and you feel invincible.

Samantha grows beautifully. She is happy and bright and healthy. She doesn't sleep without her flounder plushie and can be captivated by Disney's _The Little Mermaid_ for hours on end. She loves carrot and apple baby food and abhors squash. Central Park is her most favorite place, and Quinn has walked with her there, bundled up like a ball on many cold nights when her first teeth have started to grow in. You don't get to go often. You're far too busy with your classes, auditions, rehearsals and getting to know everyone who is anyone in the business.

* * *

You come home one night to Santana and Quinn arguing in barely hushed voices. You don't know what it's about and you really don't want to know. You catch only snippets and when you walk in, they quiet. Quinn is red, shaking. Santana's eyes are flashing and you can feel the tension, the anger. Santana starts to open her mouth to say something to you, but a look from Quinn shuts her up. She glares at you, stomps off to her bedroom and slams the door.

It startles your daughter and you go to Quinn's room, which has served as a nursery since the night you brought her home. You pick her up, kiss her on the head, inhaling her powder sweet scent. You sit down on the rocking chair, a gift from your fathers, trying to soothe her with song. She doesn't calm. You stand, turn on the mobile from her crib, trying to distract her with the lights and the colors and the lullaby that it plays. She only cries harder.

Quinn finally walks in and she takes Samantha from your arms. Quinn bounces her, getting her attention and at the sight of her, Samantha finally calms. She hiccups, burying her face in Quinn's chest, and you can't help but feel a twinge of hurt that your own daughter doesn't respond to you as she does to Quinn.

* * *

Santana is gone by the end of the month. You want to ask Quinn what happened, why Santana didn't even tell you goodbye or explain why she was leaving, but you don't. You are afraid she will confirm your suspicions that Santana's leaving had to do with you. So instead you ask her how you two can afford the apartment with both Kurt and Santana gone. She tells you you can't and that you'll have to find a new place.

You spend a weekend with her and Samantha looking for a new apartment. You only look for 2 days and it exhausts and depresses you. The last you look at is the only one that is within your budget, and is not, fortunately, in a dangerous neighborhood. The kitchen is tiny, many of the tiles have cracked, the paint on the walls is faded and most of it is stained the color of rust. It smells faintly of cat shit and urine, and the second you walk in, you turn back around to promptly walk out. Quinn doesn't let you. _It's safe here. It's not too far._ She tells you, gripping your arm tightly. _It's the only one we can afford._

You take the apartment.

You're busy with school and it's Quinn who manages the move. You stay in your apartment for as long as you can, drawing out your stay until the advance and security deposits are consumed, until only a blow-up mattress and suitcase of your clothes are left to be moved to the new apartment.

You are confused when you walk into the building. It's different from the last time you were there—it's cleaner, brighter. You walk back out and check the address just to be sure. You almost pass out when you walk into your apartment. The walls have been repainted, the kitchen retiled. Quinn smiles warmly beside you, happily bouncing Samantha in her arms. _I talked to the owner. Marshall lost his scholarship and he really needs the money. He's really good with his hands._ She tells you. You don't remember who Marshall is, someone from one of her classes, you think. _With the work he's done, they can finally increase the rent, except ours, of course, and all it cost was a few buckets of paint and a box of tiles._ You don't respond, you don't know how to. She's done this, all of this. She's figured out some way to make everything better, and in that moment, you realize you're standing in your new apartment, your new home with Quinn Fabray—Quinn Fabray, the captain of the cheerios, is standing there with you holding _your_ daughter in her arms showing you that she has managed to turn a catastrophe into a home.

Quinn makes your heart hurt. She makes it beat fast, she makes it stop, she makes it spin wildly in your chest. That night, you make love to her. You touch her with everything you feel. You kiss her with everything you're unable to say. You hold her with everything you fear, with all your gratitude and with all your hope.

When Samantha cries that night, it is Quinn that goes to soothe her. You burrow in the warmth that she leaves, and you allow yourself to cry from the intensity of all the emotions you feel but cannot name.

* * *

Samantha's first word isn't _mama_ , or _Rachel_ or _Quinn—_ it's _please_. Quinn hits her head on the cupboard and you break the coffee cup you're holding. You stare at Samantha, eyes wide, willing her to speak again. She does. _Please_. She holds her arms out towards the apple juice sitting in front of her. Looking at Quinn, she says it again— _please_. Quinn laughs. The sound startles you and it makes you jump. Your eyes meet and you too can't stop the grin that spreads on your face. Your daughter is perfect, you think. _Your daughter is perfect._

* * *

You spend more time at school than ever before and it doesn't surprise you when Samantha calls both you and Quinn _momma._ She and Quinn are asleep most nights that you get home, and even at that, you barely have time to have breakfast with them before you're breezing out the door again. You miss her, and you miss Quinn, but New York and the stage are your dream. Once everything settles, you decide, you'll have much more time. You have to make up for the year you've lost, for everything that almost slipped through your fingers.

You fail to take into account what Quinn has given up, the sacrifices she has made in creating this home, this family, this life for you and your daughter. All you think of is how you cannot fall again.

* * *

You jump out of your seat on the couch when you see Quinn come up on a new television series. You know she is taking fewer units that semester because of a new job she's gotten but she's refused to tell you what it is until that night. She has positioned you in front of the TV and finally, she shows you. Words fail you as your head swivels back and forth to the image of her on screen and her physical body beside you. _Quinn_ , you manage to breathe out, _Quinn_.

She smiles at you shyly. " _I never could sing as well as you or Kurt or Tana. But I've always been interested in acting…"_ You kiss her because you don't know what else to do. You're so proud of her, proud of how far you've both come, proud of what you have both achieved. Her eyes sparkle and her voice grows soft. " _We won't have to worry about preschool_ ," she tells you. You kiss her again to keep yourself from crying.

* * *

The day it all goes to hell is the day you see Finn Hudson again. It has been 4 years since you last saw him and the sight of him burns a hole in your heart, it engulfs your very being and it sets you aflame. You don't know what you are thinking. You feel possessed. You don't know if you are angry, if the love you once felt for him is rekindled or if being with him simply makes you feel powerful again.

You have sex with him that night in his hotel room. He apologizes to you, over and over, and you find that you believe him when he says he's tried to forget you all these years but couldn't. He wants to try again, you're end game he tells you.

You don't respond to him but when he asks to see you the next day, you give him your address as you slip on your shoes and coat to leave.

You don't know what you are thinking, what you intended to do, how you intended her to act, how you expected her to react, how you expected her to feel—but you tell Quinn. Her eyes rake over your body as you enter the door and the smile on her face is wiped as her eyes dim in worry. You look at her silently, willing her to see what you've done.

She is flustered and confused and she doesn't see, she doesn't understand. She pops a movie into the player, sits Samantha on the couch, tucking a blanket around her before she drags you into the bedroom. Her hands run over you, checking if you are okay and it's the first time you feel any sort of guilt. You tell her then.

She shakes her head but doesn't respond. She makes to speak but nothing comes out. She keeps shaking her head, it's as though her mind won't let her make sense of what you've told her, of what you've done. You pray she doesn't say your name as you realize in that moment that you're merely hanging by a thread.

She leaves soon after and you're thankful that Samantha has fallen asleep in the middle of her movie. She snuggles into you as you carry her into her bedroom. You know Quinn won't be home tonight. But you wait anyway and silently pray that she comes back. She doesn't.

When Finn comes in the morning, your make-up is perfectly done, your dress pressed, your hair in perfect waves. He brings you flowers and a pack of gummy bears for your daughter. He seems to like Samantha, and Samantha seems to like him. You want to cry when he holds her up in the air and she squeals in delight at being able to fly. You order Chinese because you really don't know your way around the kitchen, and Finn and Samantha laugh throughout the meal as he does impressions of cartoon characters. Finn slips his arms around you as the three of you sit on the couch to watch one of Samantha's many animated films. You keep yourself from flinching. Nothing has gone wrong, yet none of it feels right.

Only 10 minutes into the movie and Samantha is pulling at your hand. " _Momma_ ," she tells you plaintively.

You feel Finn chuckle next to you and you shiver as he whispers in your ear. " _She's a sweetheart_ ," he tells you.

Your heart clenches at the look on your daughter's face as she asks for Quinn again. You take her into your arms, whispering apologies and asking for forgiveness, words you want to but cannot say to Quinn. It takes you hours to get Samantha to go to sleep and even then it's simply because she's exhausted herself from crying.

Finn tells you you're beautiful, that you're brave and wonderful and perfect. And just like that it all clicks into place. A dam bursts from inside of you and you struggle not to drown in the emotions you've denied and suppressed for years. The freedom you felt the night before is threatening to stifle you. You can't breathe and you gasp as you push Finn away from you. You tell him to leave. He is confused but you don't care. You tell him to never come back, to never call, to never think about you again. He tries to speak but you don't let him. You push him out the door and cry harder than your daughter has in the short 3 years of her life as you sit slumped against the closed door.

Quinn doesn't come home that night. Nor the next night, nor the next. By the fourth day, Samantha has made herself sick from crying and at your wit's end, you call Kurt. You've been calling Santana and Quinn for days, but neither of them have picked up. You were halfway down the building just the day before when you realized you didn't know where her apartment is as you've always met outside for dinner, never at your apartment and never at hers.

You beg Kurt to tell you where Santana lives, but he doesn't know either. You beg him to call Quinn, but she doesn't pick up. You beg him again, this time to call Santana and mercifully, Santana answers. You ask him to tell her that Samantha needs Quinn, you bite your tongue to keep from adding that you do too, and please, just for the child's sake will she please give Quinn the message—to tell Quinn that her daughter needs her.

In the minutes Kurt is silent as he listens to whatever Santana is saying on the other side of the line, you don't breathe. You watch him flinch, you watch him start to open his mouth to interrupt her over and over as he ends up shutting it closed again, merely nodding. You can't hear what she's saying to him, you're afraid that whatever it is, Kurt's nods seem to indicate his agreement. You stay silent and you pray. If she'd just tell Quinn… Quinn would do anything for your daughter. Anything. Everything. Even see you again. _Please, let her tell Quinn._

Kurt gives one final nod, says "Thank you, Santana," and sighs as he hangs up. He smiles at you sadly, tiredly, holding his thumbs up in a way that has always reminded you of high school and losers and glee club. It makes your heart clench now, as it often does, and you launch yourself into his arms. _I've messed up, Kurt. I've messed everything up._

You can't bear to tell him everything what's happened, everything you've been feeling, everything you've done. You want to, you want to so badly but you can't. Words fail you as they have since the day you saw those 2 pink lines. He steers you towards the couch and rubs your back as you sob. " _Kurt"_ you call out plaintively, clutching him to you, " _Kurt!_ " He doesn't say anything, only hugs you tighter.

When Kurt finally speaks, you are reminded that night of what friendships are about. The truth is you've had so few in high school, no one outside of the glee club, and even fewer in college as it's always about classes and rehearsing and competition, and you are focused and afraid of failing, of falling again. And Kurt has been away living his own life, his own dream.

But that night, Kurt reminds you. He gives you hope. He forgives you even when it isn't his place. He absolves you even when he shouldn't. He doesn't tell you anything you do not already know, but no one has ever actually told you and as you listen to him, you soak it all in like the first rain after a drought. And you realize it is. It has been four years. Four years.

Samantha is still asleep when he leaves and the hope he has kindled in you gives you a sense of strength. The thought of seeing Quinn makes you slightly giddy but you try to calm yourself as your daughter's temperature is steadily increasing and you know it isonly because of her that Quinn has agreed to come.

You jump when you hear a key go into the lock and you hold your breath as it clicks and opens. Her eyes are red, the clothes she has on are rumpled, her hair is in disarray, yet you decide she has never looked more beautiful in all the years you have seen her. You don't see anger in her gaze, just hurt and confusion. You want to prostrate yourself at her feet, ask for forgiveness, anything to fix what you have done; but then your daughter is coming out of her bedroom and she wails when she sees Quinn, and runs to her.

The crying doesn't cease, not for a while and it's as though Samantha is punishing Quinn for leaving as she had so many times before with you. Quinn is patient, she doesn't get rattled. With softness in her eyes as she looks at your daughter and the gentle ministrations of her hands, it is as though she understands, as though even your daughter's cries are music to her ears.

For the first time in over three years, with the two of you in your own home, you do not sleep together. She stays in Samantha's room, and you stay in yours, fighting to keep the guilt, the longing, and most especially, the tears of relief, at bay.

Samantha is much better in the morning, and for the first time in days, she finally smiles again. You wake up to her laughter; she is in Quinn's arms and Quinn is reading her a story. Your eyes meet briefly and your heart races as she smiles at you. But her smile is quickly gone. It is as though for a moment, she has forgotten what you had done only to have it all crash down on her as she remembers it all.

She doesn't look at you for the rest of the day.

* * *

It is exactly two months before Quinn says anything at all to you. You know because you've been counting. You haven't had a full night's sleep since before that night with Finn, and every morning, your first thought is a wish, a prayer that it was all just a dream. For a full 5 minutes when your eyes open, you will Quinn to walk in, to kiss you and tell you breakfast is ready as she's done for the past 3 years. But she doesn't.

She tells you she wants to take Samantha out for a movie that night. She doesn't ask you for permission, she's merely telling you. And she doesn't ask you to come.

The next time she speaks to you is 2 weeks later. This time, she does ask you for permission. She's seeing someone, she tells you, and she would like to introduce her to Samantha. There's a pounding in your chest and you let out a strangled breath. You realize you can't breathe, you've forgotten how to. You double over, gasping, and in the next instant Quinn is next to you her hands framing your face. She's talking to you, but you can't hear a word she's saying. Her touch is all you can focus on, and you start to cry. You don't want to be crying. You deserve all the pain you're feeling. You've hurt Quinn and destroyed your family. You don't get to be the one that needs to be taken care of. You try to stop, but you can't.

And then Quinn starts singing to you. She touches your forehead with hers, and she's singing like she did that night 3 years ago before Samantha was born; and you can hear. You can feel her and you can see her and you can touch her. And she's crying just as you are. And you pray. You aren't sure what you're praying for, perhaps it's for Quinn not to leave you, or maybe it's simply for that moment when she's finally holding you again to never end. Everything ends, you know that, but you pray anyway.

Slowly, you get a hold of yourself. Her voice calms you, the feel of her against you gives you hope. _"Please,"_ you tell her. And when she starts to shake her head, you don't let her. You hold her head in place and for a second you consider kissing her. You want to remind her of everything you two had, everything you can still have. But you don't. You won't make her do what you've done. You won't turn her into you. So instead you whisper to her. _I'll fix us._ You promise. _Just give me a chance and I'll fix everything._

* * *

It's the first time you really try to do anything in the kitchen outside of making coffee, pouring your daughter a bowl of cereal and slicing fruit. You don't even really make your salads because Quinn always seems to have something ready for you to eat. The past few months since the incident, she's still continued to make sure there's always something for you. So the first time you try to make pancakes, it all goes quite horribly wrong.

You burn yourself on the range twice, flour ends up all over the floor, there are eggshells everywhere on the counter and to top it all off, you burn the pancakes. Your "I'm sorry" cookies were never this difficult to make. You swear the kitchen is cursed. Or it's angry at you because you've hurt Quinn. You decide you'll have a talk with it later when there's no chance your daughter will hear.

There's genuine fear in Quinn's eyes before it is replaced by amusement when she catches sight of you in the kitchen. She reaches for the half burnt pancake in Samantha's hand. " _Rach?"_ she squeaks out.

You blush. _"It's just a bit burnt,"_ you tell her. She looks doubtful and lifts the pancake to her nose before sighing and giving it back to Samantha who, you note, quite happily starts munching on it again.

She turns back to you, amused now, biting her lip. You know she's trying to hold back a smile. And just because she's Quinn and she makes everything better, you show her your hand, twice burnt. She pulls you to her, sighing into your hair. She holds you as nearby your daughter babbles on about mermaids and fairies as she stuffs her stomach full with your half burnt pancakes. Quinn whispers something to you, but you don't quite catch it. You're afraid to ask her, afraid she'll let you go so you tell yourself to be satisfied with her holding you. You decide then that you'll do anything to keep her.

* * *

The first time you meet Carly, you wish the ground would swallow you whole. You run into her and Quinn at the bookstore Samantha has asked you to bring her to so she can have the newest installment in her favorite adventure series. It turns out it's exactly why they were there as well, so Quinn can buy the book for Samantha.

Carly is kind, friendly, and most certainly gorgeous. She's tall, her muscles are well-toned, her skin beautifully tanned. Her hair shines when it catches the sun's rays, her eyes sparkle as she talks about a book you've never even heard of before, and her laugh in itself sounds like music. You decide she's just about perfect and your heart drops when you realize she's better than you and that Quinn deserves the best.

You are quiet that night and so is Quinn. She keeps looking at you like she wants to say something, explain maybe, even when she doesn't have to. And you're seriously considering whether you're capable of just letting her go because she deserves someone much better than you. You try to imagine life without her and you just about have another panic attack because no, it really just isn't something you want. It isn't something you think you can handle.

Quinn comes into your room in the middle of the night. She hesitates at the door for a minute before she gathers enough resolve to enter. She sits at the foot of your bed as her eyes rake over you. You feel naked under her gaze and you shiver in apprehension. You know she sees what you're thinking, how you're feeling and it terrifies you. You don't want her to see through you, you don't want her to see your insecurities and your fears.

"Why did you do it, Rach?" she asks you, her voice breaking at your name. "Why couldn't I make you happy?"

You don't know how to respond, because really, no one's ever made you as happy as Quinn has, and because you haven't really thought about Finn either since the day you pushed him out the door. You sit up, take her hand and place it above your heart willing her to feel how it races at her touch. You tell her the one thing you've never told her in the four years that she has loved you.

You tell her that you love her too.

You tell her about your shame. You tell her about the anger that's been coursing through your veins. It had become a part of you for far too long and the moment you had a chance to prove you weren't nobody, that you couldn't be forgotten, you did. You tell her you are stupid. You tell her it's the biggest mistake you've ever made. You tell her how her eyes dazzle you, how her smiles warm you, how her touch ignites your very soul. Most importantly, you tell her that you love her and that if she'd let you, you'd spend your whole life showing her exactly that.

She cries but doesn't respond and as you take her into your arms, your heart breaks at what you know you have done to you both.

* * *

Santana comes to your apartment for the first time 3 days later. She stares at you, eyebrow raised as you gape at the sight of her in the doorway. Samantha and Quinn are out and you send up a prayer that if Santana is there to kill you, it isn't your daughter that walks in to find your body first. When Santana has had enough of your gaping, she pushes past you and invites herself into your apartment. She looks around, humming in approvable. You hold your tongue to keep yourself from admitting the apartment is all Quinn's doing. You guess that she probably already knows that anyway. She sits on the couch, waiting for you to follow her before she starts talking. You don't know what possesses you to do just that, but you do. Perhaps the guilt's finally clawed its way out of your chest and the day of your reckoning has come.

Santana snaps you out of your melodramatic musings with a tap of her foot on your wood floors. You notice the discoloration on the wood, probably due to your daughter's constant spilling of her juice on the floor and make a note to buy varnish. You'll leave Samantha with Kurt that weekend and maybe you and Quinn can make a party off of re-varnishing the floor. High on varnish, you two just might forget the mess you're in.

Santana clears her throat loudly to get your attention. She's getting quite impatient. You give her a pointed look and she smiles, pleased. "What are your intentions towards Quinn?"

You choke on the air that you've just sucked in and tell her the first thing that pops into your mind when you manage to stop coughing. "We've been having sex for years, Santana."

She gives you a look that tells you exactly how stupid she thinks you are. She repeats her question. You look at her, aghast. Only when she realizes you really don't understand what it is she wants from you does she soften and smile. She rolls her eyes at you and your heart starts to pound as you start to understand what it is she's asking from you.

So you tell her.

You tell her you want to spend the rest of your life with Quinn. You tell her you want to marry her.

Santana merely rolls her eyes at you again, but this time she's smiling. "You two do everything backwards," she tells you. "Can't you two like, start with a date?"

You shake your head, you just can't help it. You do want to marry her. You can spend the rest of your lives going on dates, but you can't wait to finally have her be _yours_.

"She's always been yours, you know?" Santana tells you, like she's just read your mind. "Yours and your little munchkin's."

"Ours." You tell her. Samantha has always been Quinn's daughter too.

* * *

When you ask Quinn to marry you, you don't have a ring. It's late into the night and your daughter has asked for ice cream after a mini-Disney marathon and because neither of you had the resolve to say no, there you three were on a park bench, 3 spoons and an empty carton of ice cream between you. Samantha is slumped against Quinn, half asleep from an ice cream induced stupor.

Your hands shake and you can barely meet her eyes, but you ask her anyway. She looks incredulously at you and you feel you're about to have a heart attack. You repeat yourself, barely able to breathe and force yourself to whisper that you love her. It's really all you can manage, you feel like you're about to die. You know she's going to say no, and really, she's got no reason to say yes, but god, you can't live without her and asking her is all you've been able to think about for the past month.

She doesn't respond, you don't know how long she just looks at you and you can't tell what she's thinking because you still can't breathe and you're focusing on trying to remember how to. She says your name and it makes you want to cry. Her voice is raspy in the cold night air and all you can think about is how her voice is the one thing you want to hear over and over for the rest of your life. She's who you want to see day in and day out, who you want to hold as you sleep each night. She's all you want and you've lost her because of some misguided twisted need for retribution.

"We should go. She'll catch a cold if we stay out much longer." Quinn lifts Samantha into her arms, careful not to wake her. She gets as far as a nearby streetlamp before she notices you aren't behind her and stops to wait for you. You're still sitting on the bench, looking at her, dumbfounded. You want to rage, demand that she reply, make her break your heart as you had hers, make her say _Yes_. You remain where you are, silently, willing her to respond. She shifts your sleeping daughter, you know she's almost too old to be carried, you know how heavy she has gotten. She finally meets your eyes and you can't read them. You watch as your daughter burrows into her further, Quinn's arms tightening securely around her.

This time, you stand. You make your way towards them. You hold your hand against Samantha's cheek and you lean over to whisper in her ear. She shifts, her body angling towards you, her arms wrapping around you. She rubs her chilled nose against your neck and it makes you smile. You turn your gaze towards Quinn, and unguarded, you see how tenderly she looks at you and your daughter. The smile on your face widens and you can't help but laugh a little. "Momma," Samantha whines against you and you kiss her head in apology.

You roll your eyes at Quinn and her expression is once again guarded and indecipherable. But it isn't anymore, not really. So you tell her what you're thinking before you start to walk back to your apartment. "You'll marry me one day, Quinn Fabray." And you know you're right, you know because you won't let yourself be wrong.

* * *

Quinn avoids you for most of the following week. And the week after. And the week after that. You thought it was a bit amusing, at first, but as the weeks wore on, frustration started to set in and the amusement has decreased to nil.

You tell Kurt what's happened and he doesn't understand why you find any of it funny. You honestly don't either, but there's something inside of you that's made you giddy, dizzy, floaty, high. "Quinn's going to marry me." You tell him. "She will."

He reminds you she never actually replied, that she has, in fact, avoided you for most of the weeks after you'd proposed, but he shuts up when you ask him if he really thinks you and Quinn don't belong together. His lack of an answer and the way his eyes soften tell you enough.


	2. Chapter 2

"Rachel asked me to marry her."

It's the first thing you've said in the 2 hours you've been there. You don't quite remember how you got there or how long you've been sitting in the dining room but the tea Carly's prepared has long since gone cold, cupped between the palms of your hands. Carly is quiet. She doesn't speak. She doesn't pry. She doesn't react. It's what you've always loved about Carly. The quiet. The calm. It's also what you don't.

Carly doesn't make your heart race, she never has. One look from her doesn't make your insides twist in knots. One small smile from her doesn't make the room brighter.

"I didn't say yes." You add quietly.

"You didn't say no." She responds evenly.

You raise your eyes to meet hers and her eyes are soft and full of understanding. You shake your head. She takes your hand.

"We can stop this."

And you should, but you can't, you really can't. Carly helps keep you together, from breaking into the many pieces Rachel's actions have left you in. She keeps you grounded, shrouded, hidden. Carly keeps you from drowning.

"I love you." You tell her. And she laughs.

She pats your hand, smiling beautifully at you. She kisses your cheek as she whispers in your ear. "Of course you do, sweetie."

She makes a fresh batch of tea and only after the kettle's done whistling and a new cup is poured do you speak again.

"If… If he came back… Would you? Would you let him? Would you take him back?" You are afraid to look at her, afraid to confirm how you've hurt her, but you do anyway. You can't do this to her and not be brave enough to catch her.

She tries to smile at you again, she's so good to you, always so good, but tears are forming in her eyes and she makes to turn away. You grab her by the arm, pulling her to you as you wrap your arms around her middle. She hugs you back tightly, drawing in the comfort of your unspoken apology.

It's minutes later when she's sitting across from you, knuckles white from her vise-like grip on her cup that she answers. "I can't not, Quinnie."

* * *

You met Carly in a coffee shop the year you first land a role that pays well enough for you to be able to afford a good preschool for your daughter and a regular sitter that doubles as a piano teacher. You're taking the minimum number of units that allows you stay enrolled and despite that being only 3 subjects, you're struggling to meet your deadlines on top of caring for your daughter and Rachel and shooting for the series. Despite how much you love them both, you revel in your weekly immersion into the aroma of coffee and baked goods as you sit, trying to get through the mountain of schoolwork you always seem to have to get caught up on.

The day you meet her, she plants herself in the chair in front of you, and startled, you simply stare at her, slack-jawed. She talks to you about _War and Peace,_ picking it up from the pile of readings you have in front of you. She talks for a whole half hour before she finally tells you her name, and rather bashfully, admits that she is a bit socially awkward. She reminds you of Rachel, and because even the remotest thought of Rachel puts you in a good mood, you make a friend that day.

Seven weeks later she tells you she's having an affair with a married man.

* * *

The reason you and Carly work is that despite the fact that you're not actually in love with each other, you do love each other. Aidan is married and unable to leave his wife for her, and Rachel… well, Rachel had done what she had.

What you two have… it keeps both of you afloat. It keeps you both from drowning in misery.

It really is quite like a real relationship for the most part. There's concern, respect, friendship, most certainly love. You had picked up the pieces many a time after the more turbulent periods of her relationship with Aidan and she has loved and cared for you before Rachel was even able to admit to herself her own feelings for you. It is ridiculous how your faith in Rachel had never wavered those past four years despite what those closest and dearest to you have said. And the truth is, despite what she had done, you still hold that belief close to your heart.

And that is what kills you and Carly both. However many times Aidan breaks his promises to her, he'll always have her heart. And so even when it seems like you're in a relationship with her, and she's in a relationship with you, when you hold her in the night, it isn't her you see, it isn't her you really feel, just as you're not it for her. In those desperate months your world had been so shattered you could barely feel, it still wasn't Carly's whose name you called, just as yours never escaped her lips.

When you'd hinted to Rachel about her, it had mostly been a lie. You hadn't known what to say to her, but there was such a great need to do so, to elicit anything at all from her so you'd taken a shot in the dark. A dagger to a heart you weren't sure existed. Her reaction thrilled you and sent your world spinning further. You know you should know better than to trust Rachel again, know better than to give her the remains of your shattered heart, but you can't not. It doesn't belong anywhere but with her.

And so you both only really pretend. Carly holds you up. You hold her down. You keep her tethered to this world when she is in the throes of despair, and she keeps you buoyed when Rachel's sins have you so buried under that you can't breathe and see even with the glimmering brightness of your daughter's being.

* * *

Cheating isn't something new to you. You'd done it so often in the past you can barely keep track of who you were actually with at any given time. High school was a crazy period in your life. High school was when you lost your daughter because you weren't good enough. You couldn't be good enough. Hell, you simply couldn't be enough. But things had changed. And god, Rachel doesn't know it, you've never really told her, but she had played such an important role in all that. You think it's part of the reason you fell in love with her even before you could properly admit to yourself that you actually liked her. But all that, all the cheating, all the craziness, it was all over. You were done with all that.

You'd tried early on to get Carly to see that cheating, an affair, couldn't possibly end well. Especially one wherein she'd been on the receiving end of disappointment and pain for years. But Carly wasn't capable of listening, just as you'd never been able to listen to Santana's warnings and criticism about Rachel's behavior the past few years. You think it's because better sense plays no real part in it. That in the night, when she holds you and you hold her, when you kiss her and you see her smile, hear her moan, feel her arms tighten around you pulling you impossibly close to you her as though she can't get you close enough, you feel with every fiber of your being all the things left unsaid, the things not done. When you think of those nights, when you remember the particular way her eyes shone just for you, how she kissed you in places no one has ever cared to kiss, how she would sigh your name as she snuggled into your neck and wrapped her arms around you every single night without fail. These are the things Santana has never seen and doesn't know, things you have never bothered to tell her because they were private Rachel-moments that you treasured, actions just for you, yours and not public consumption. You've never told anyone, not even Carly. But Carly's never needed to know. Carly has her own. Carly's keep her from truly ever leaving him, just as you can't ever truly leave Rachel.

Santana, Kurt, your mother, her fathers—they all think this relationship is because of Samantha. Because of your misplaced feelings for a daughter you had given up. They think you are projecting it all onto Rachel's daughter, and that the relationship was merely borne from this yearning to mother, to create a family you had given up when you were far too young to know any better. But you _had_ known better. You had given your daughter the best chance she had at life. And you have been in love with Rachel Berry far longer than anyone can guess. No, this relationship isn't because of the child. The love you feel for her isn't because of anything other than who Rachel Berry is and everything, _everything_ that she is.

What Rachel had done had come as a shock to you. Not because you had thought her better than that, or that she wasn't capable of it—no. No, no, no, you had always known what Rachel Berry was capable of. You've always known her that insecurities, her anger, her ambitions, as with all her emotions, ran very deep, and when a deadly mix came into play, hell would most certainly break lose. You'd simply never thought you'd be caught in the crossfire.

Some days you think you've forgiven Rachel for what she'd done. You'd understood, sort of, when the pain of her betrayal had stopped consuming you enough to think about why she'd done what she had. You'd understood that is was as much a betrayal of herself as it was a betrayal of you. A betrayal of all you two had, of all you two had built. But it hadn't really been the both of you. You had built for the two of you and she had built for herself. Her fall, her failing, her fear and anger had consumed her. The closer she got to the top, the further she spiraled into herself. You saw it in the frequent late nights, the dimming of her eyes, how some days she merely sighed into you as she pulled you close. Some days you wanted to shake her, ask her if she realized she was slowly killing herself with trying to get further up top, but your tongue always froze, heavy and leaden they wouldn't say the words you knew she was incapable of hearing and understanding anyway.

Some days you think maybe you could forgive Finn. Some days you think of sending him a six-pack and a gun with 2 bullets in the barrel. You hate him for what he's done. It's impossible for him to not have known about you two. In a town like Lima, Ohio, even Finn fucking Hudson would understand when he got word, though 2 bullets would be smart, as with his IQ, he was guaranteed to misfire into his foot before managing to get it to his head. But at the same time, you're also grateful because only with this have you once again started to see the Rachel you had actually fallen in love with all those years back. Back to before Samantha, back to before what she deems to be her fall, back to before her insecurities ran rampant, back to the pushy fashion-challenged girl who yearned but pretended to not need to be accepted. You can't even really tell when you actually fell in love with her, truth be told, but God, you've loved her for so long, so very very long. And with this, her spark, her spunk, it has all started to come back. Her pain, her fear, it has transformed into determination and hope. And she is more there, more real, so different from the Rachel that had been fading from you in the last few months before the incident. So yes, a gun and a six-pack because you don't know whether you want to thank him or have him disappear off the face of the planet. Mostly, it's the latter.

Mostly, you forgive Rachel. You really mostly do. But this time, you're the one who is afraid. You're so fucking afraid of hurting like that again, that you're unable to let go of both her and Carly. You know you should. You know Carly is mostly staying on for you. But you don't know how to end it. You don't know if you're brave enough to.

* * *

It is three months after Rachel's proposal that you snap at both her and your daughter on the same day. It is the first time you snap at Samantha, and truthfully, the first time you have snapped at Rachel since her pregnancy and the beginning of your relationship. You don't know what is wrong with you that day-only that Samantha has been refusing to eat anything but cereal all week, has had Disney's Frozen on a loop all hours of her waking day and that the child had thrown a tantrum at the grocery when they didn't have the particular cereal she seemed to be fixating on; and Rachel—Rachel had been distant all that week, quiet, barely capable of half smiles, mostly staring off into space when she didn't think anybody was looking. If you're honest, it was really mostly Rachel that set you off. Her quiet had sent you in a whirlwind of fear, especially after that voicemail regarding her foregoing the lead role in that year's biggest school production. That had set you on edge. The grocery run was supposed to settle your nerves, calm you before Rachel arrived home from what was supposed to be rehearsals, but Samantha, your always well-behaved little angel had decided on that day to show you exactly how she is her mothers' daughter. You yourself had almost been in tears after with the worry and fear you were feeling and with how your daughter's eyes had widened in incredulity when you had yelled.

Rachel had been home when you and your tear-strained daughter walked into the apartment, both sniffling, her hugging an extra-large box of cereal that you had looked in 3 grocery stores just to find. Rachel had gaped at you both as you walked through the threshold, unable to form a word. Samantha had walked towards Rachel, nuzzled her face into her chest for a few moments, box of cereal still tightly in her own arms. She sniffled a few times before lifting her head to look at you and saying, "Bed, please?" asking for permission.

You're barely able to stop yourself from crying in your own incredulity at having yelled at your daughter just an hour ago, and all you can really do to keep yourself together is nod in response. Rachel merely sits calmly, seemingly more concerned about you than your daughter. This makes you angry and the moment the door closes behind Samantha you rip into her. Her eyes widen much as Samantha's had done, and then she frowns and then she looks guilty and then she sighs and continues to calmly sit. Her silence infuriates you, but her eyes—her eyes, they reassure you. You see her there. She is all there. She didn't fade away like you were afraid was going to happen again. She is sitting there, calm and complete. And you stop only when you start crying again. You feel her arms around you as she leads you to the couch. Her fingers rub at your ears before wiping the tears off your cheeks. She places a kiss on your forehead and explains to you that she has taken on a job at a nearby hotel, that with the hours she works, she simply can't take on the lead role. You remind her it is her dream. Her _dream_. There will be other roles, she tells you. You tell her she could be jeopardizing her future, that you've been doing more than make ends meet for the past year and that it isn't necessary. Only her thumb to your lips silences you. She caresses it gently and you will her to kiss you. She doesn't. She pulls you to her, buries her face into your neck. You feel your name on her lips as it brushes along your neck.

"It's my turn, Quinn." She tells you moments later. "It's my responsibility too to take care of our family."

* * *

You wake up early the next morning to find the door to Rachel's room open. You're worried that she has already left, not having yet had a chance to discuss her schedule with her new job and school, and you peek in. You find her on her side, humming a song you don't recognize, as she runs her fingers through your daughter's hair. In your worry you walk in without asking for permission and without being given one, you walk in without thinking about the last time you were in there and the admissions of years of insecurity and anger and fear and the need for revenge and retribution, all remain in the whispery cobwebs of memory. Samantha has never before sought Rachel, or you, in the middle of the night. She is a heavy sleeper, a child fortunately quite free of nightmares and fears of the dark and monsters under beds and inside closets, and so finding her in a bed that was not her own was a thing of worry.

"Is she sick?" You ask, hand reaching for her forehead as you sit on the edge of the bed.

Rachel shakes her head, smiling softly at you. She takes your hand, threading her fingers with yours as she pulls you down into the bed. You acquiesce and try not to sink into the soft mattress that feels much better than one you've been sleeping on the past few months. This bed is the one you have shared for years. It is one that smells of Rachel. It's the one that feels like you've come home. You allow your eyes to close only briefly, refusing to let the familiarity and comfort overtake you. But when your eyes open, Rachel's are on you and you feel such maturity in her gaze that you have never before felt from her that your heart skips a beat.

"Rachel?" It's tentative, barely above a whisper. You're not sure what you feel. You're not sure you know what's going on.

She smiles at you, her eyes, it so soft. So so soft. Too soft. "Rachel." You say again, louder this time, insistent.

"I love you, Quinn." She tells you, and you swear your heart stops beating when she removes the hand threaded with yours. "You were everything I wanted to be… You were beautiful, popular, smart—I tried… I wanted so badly to be close to you, to have you just smile at me." Her eyes look lost and only your daughter between you keeps you from taking her into your arms and shaking her.

You don't want to see her lost. You want her there, with you, with Samantha. You reach for her, your hand gripping hers once again. You know it's a bit painful, but you're afraid and you want her to feel, to come back, to stay. "Rachel." You say again. And this time, when she looks at you, her eyes are brighter.

"Your daughter is of the opinion that I did it wrong." She's smiling at you wryly. You don't know what she's talking about, but the way her way her eyes sparkle, the way her smile has that hint of a smirk shows you she's there. She's staying. She brings out a plastic ring—a red plastic band with a large crystal on top, the kind that comes free from snack boxes and cereal, and Rachel takes your hand into hers. She sits up slightly, places a soft kiss on your wrist before turning your hand over and slipping the ring onto your left pinky finger.

"I know you didn't say yes…" she continues wistfully, "I know what I did was unforgivable. That I ruined our family… And that I have no real right to ask you to be mine. I know I don't deserve you. Not you, not our daughter, not this family… But I love you, Quinn. I love you so much. And I don't know what to do. I don't know how to fix it. You deserve someone so much better than me, but I love you. I love you and I don't know how, but I'll fix it. Let me fix it. Just give me a chance and I'll figure out how to make everything as it was.

* * *

Things with Carly end that very same day.

You sit waiting for her in the very café you had met in almost 2 years earlier, nursing a steadily growing cold chai tea. What you desperately wanted was the comforting taste of a piping hot Americano, but the pounding in your chest since that morning when Rachel put that plastic ring on your finger, the very ring you still haven't taken off, makes you afraid you're going to have a heart attack if that much caffeine enters your system.

She is 30 minutes late, nothing new as she is almost always at least 30 minutes late to everything you two have ever set or gone to, and you try to steady the heavy beating of your heart with every second you sit there and wait. She arrives with a heavy gust of wind and it knocks down a potted plant near the doorway. _A storm is coming_ , you can't help but think, and in that second you pray that it does not leave destruction in its wake as it so often does.

She plops herself in front of you and the goofy smile on her face makes you laugh and your heart feels freer than it has since that morning at the apartment. She laughs with you and the way her eyes simultaneously sparkle as they roll at you tells you neither of you have an actual reason for the sudden attack of levity. When you both calm, her smile is soft and your heart begins to pound again. You don't know what to say so you stay silent, playing with the ring on your finger as you think of how to begin.

She places a small box on the table, a box your mother had sent you just a few weeks before your whole life had been turned upside down. You'd brought it over to Carly's apartment, afraid Rachel would stumble upon it. It hadn't been the right time and you knew it probably wouldn't be for long while. You were both still in school and though you were no longer struggling to make ends meet and she was very close to graduating, you knew she still had dreams to live out. It wasn't the right time then but every time you'd go into your room, or Rachel would take something from the drawer, your heart would beat fast and your head would play out a scenario of you just proposing to her right then. So to Carly's it went—out of sight, out of mind.

"It's okay, you know." She tells you gently as both her hands takes yours in them. "I think she's worth it."

"I'm so scared." Your whisper is barely audible and you're grateful when she seems to have heard it as she squeezes your hands in hers.

"They're worth it." She assures you. "Your future is worth it."

You tell her you're sorry, but you can't say much more than that.

She tells you she's leaving for Oregon to stay with her sister for a while. "Husband was cheating on her." She tells you quietly, her eyes not meeting yours. "Their youngest isn't even a year old."

You flick her left ear and she pulls back in surprise and annoyance. You roll your eyes at her. "Not every cheating husband is your fault."

She rolls her eyes back at you, but her eyes are lighter and she is smiling again. "Of course not. He's a fat turd with an ass as big as a tractor. I told her not to marry him but she wouldn't listen."

You laugh. Times like these you feel so much older than her. She launches herself at you and for a few seconds her hold is so tight that you can't breathe. When she releases you her eyes are heavy with unshed tears but she's still smiling. "I'm done, Quinn." She tells you.

And because you know how this decision, whether or not it is irrevocable and permanent, is tearing her up inside, you hold her and remain silent. It's a long while later when you promise her the only thing that you can, that you will always, always be there for her when she needs you, that she will never have to be alone.

That night you come home to laughter and warmth and singing and dancing. Samantha is jumping on the couch, arms swinging above her head as Rachel belts out The Little Mermaid's Under the Sea along with Sebastian. Samantha launches herself into your arms as you walk through the door, singing so loudly in your ear that it rings. Rachel's beaming smile turns into a look of horror as she turns to look at the kitchen. You place Samantha on the floor who insists on coming with you before you follow Rachel into it. There's a crestfallen look on her face as she takes out the baking dish from the oven. You don't see and smell smoke so you don't quite know what's wrong at first, but and when you realize that of course nothing burned—Rachel had forgotten to light the oven—you laugh.

Rachel pouts at you but as you smile warmly at her, her mouth curves, smiling back at you, mollified. "We wanted to make dinner for you." She explained needlessly. You bend down to whisper to your daughter to put her shoes on and get her coat, and as she scampers to do as you've asked, you take Rachel's hand in yours, lifting it to your lips. You see her eyes widen, you feel her pulse quicken. The sudden flicker of desire in her eyes is undeniable and so is the worry that replaces it. "Quinn…" She whispers.

You place a finger to her lips to keep her from talking and simply hold her in your arms. You let her go only when your daughter impatiently announces that she is ready to leave. Rachel remains quiet, but her eyes hold questions you cannot yet give answers to. So taking her hand, you lead her to the door, putting her coat on her shoulders and placing one of Samantha's hands in hers as you hold tightly on to her other one. As your daughter pulls you both out the door, you hope your message is clear. You're not letting her go.


End file.
